


Litost

by ThePsuedonym



Series: Incipient [2]
Category: Kung Fu Panda - All Media Types
Genre: Background Character Death, Character Study, Fate & Destiny, Gen, Inheritance, Lord Shen (Kung Fu Panda) Backstory, Minor Character Death, Off-Handed Mentions of Genocide, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9219104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePsuedonym/pseuds/ThePsuedonym
Summary: Everything was clear to him now.or:men are not prisoners of fate, but only prisoners of their own minds. Franklin D. Roosevelt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Classes start up again on Monday, but who needs sleep? Not me, clearly! What is this thing you call 'sleep'?
> 
> I'm perfectly aware that Shen's backstory is covered in the second film, I just expanded on it. I have no idea where Shen keeps his yanyuedao when he's not using it (because there's no sheath or anywhere else to store it???)  
> (Between the word 'Empire' and Shen's state of mind, I feel more like I'm writing Anakin Skywalker at the end of ROTS (but a little more stable?))(somebody please stop me i have no idea what the hell im doing anymore)

 

 

Litost – [le-toss] _adjective_ ; Czech, “a state of torment created by the sudden sight of one’s own misery” (Milan Kundera)

 

Hardy, rich wood was an expensive commodity in most Chinese cities, for the strongest and sturdiest sources grew deep in the heartland and far from the seaside cities that cried for quality timber. Many had to settle for the sea salt-tainted plants that grew on the coastlines or the dubious quality of imported goods, but this was Gongmen City, the southern jewel of the Empire. Her rivers were the longest, the deepest, the most reliable of all that graced China’s lands.

From the Yù Bay, one could travel along the Dà River and to the outskirts of the Chíxù Desert, where the sand met the mountains and the aspens shot out from the rocks to carve out the skies. Long-standing generations of loggers carved the forests out in turn, shipping their wares downriver and into Gongmen where the most legendary of China’s fleets were constructed.

Only the wealthiest of buyers could afford genuine Chinese aspen. Qiānbēi was more than contented with his purchase, for it now masked the nervous stride of his pacing from open ears, even if it did not hide him from his wife’s tired eyes.

Knocking drew the attention of both peafowls. Qiānbēi cleared his throat and smoothed the front of his changshan. “Enter,” he called, voice absent of any sign of hesitation.

The door opened at his command and a hare stepped through, already bowing at the waist towards the pair of birds. “Lord Qiānbēi, Lady Liàng.” His words were tremulous and quavered in the air, leading Qiānbēi to wonder, absently, if the servant feared them – or the purpose for which he now stood before them. “The soothsayer has arrived, she requests your presence.”

Qiānbēi looked to his wife. It had been her idea to seek out the power of divination, had it not? Her feathers, once glossy with youth and vitality, now looked dull and decrepit with stress as she passed him with an inner strength he hadn’t known she possessed.

 _Divines help us now_ , he thought, and followed her into the hall.

However he may have imagined the female to appear, for he had no special need of fortune-telling or divination, Qiānbēi supposed that the soothsayer fulfilled none of his expectations. He may have been inclined to imagine an aging, ancient individual, wrinkled skin or mangy fur or patchy feathers silver and gray with wisdom; a gummy mouth long divested of its teeth, or a beak cracked and chipped from decades of sustaining one’s self.

She appeared not old but neither young, in that intermediate and deceptive age that varied from animal to animal. White fur furthered that illusion, as did the beard that grew from her chin. Her horns were long, turned down to frame her head in a tasteful quirk of nature. Perched above her nose was a small pair of lenses that appeared practically useless, given their placement. Even if the goat was old, Qiānbēi supposed, she was sprightly enough for someone half _his_ age.

“Lord Qiānbēi.” She bowed respectfully towards him, then to his wife. “Lady Liàng. It is a pleasure to meet you both, even if the circumstances are not as fortunate.” He inclined his head towards her and side-eyed the hare, who skittered away to leave them their privacy. “Shall we take this meeting elsewhere? I cannot perform my services on your doorstep, of course.”

“Of course.”

Qiānbēi inclined his head to the royal guard watching over them as he turned and the wolf made itself scarce, the visitor no longer deemed a threat. This time it was he who led them through the door and back into the throne room, such as it was. An ancient and decidedly distasteful herald to a past that had long concluded, Qiānbēi had no love for what it misrepresented. Gongmen had not housed royalty in centuries, not since before she had joined her glory to the Empire’s. Reaching the end of the room he turned to face the soothsayer once more, catching sight of an unmistakably displeased expression in the downturn of her mouth.

She was more interesting than she initially appeared, at any rate.

“So.” The soothsayer brought one of her hooves to her beard and stroked it thoughtfully, gazing at the two peafowl over her glasses. “You would have me look upon your son’s future.”

Qiānbēi suppressed a flinch at her words. They had told no one of their fears regarding Shen; she could not have known the reason she had been requested. “You… You are not wrong,” he conceded after several moments. “Shen has displayed some worrying behaviors as of late, and we… We want to know that he will be alright.”

In response the soothsayer made a low noise, neither condescending nor of agreement, a single hoof still carding through her hair. “I will require an unused incense bowl and some of your son’s feathers; then I may reveal his destiny to you.”

Both birds moved without further prompting. Liàng passed through one of the rear exits so she could search for stray feathers Shen may have left behind while Qiānbēi moved towards the front. As expected one of the servants was hovering about the doors, stubby fingers interlocking and disconnecting intermittently, twisting about in a habit unfit for an individual in a position such as he. But no matter; Qiānbēi had matters more personal occupying his attention than the nervous behaviors of his employees.

“Shān.” The hare cringed at the sound of his name and tentatively met the peacock’s gaze. “Take Xuànfēng with you and bring an incense bowl here as swiftly as possible. One unused, if you would.”

“Of course Lord Qiānbēi.”

Immediately the servant bowed and scampered off to do as was ordered. Qiānbēi pulled his head back into the room and returned to his previous position, ignoring the soothsayer’s eyes following each movement. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye found her unabashedly staring; returning her gaze failed to avert it. Rather, she only strengthened her focus. He was not a rude being by nature, but by the Five Dragons the soothsayer was making him uncomfortable.

Qiānbēi was becoming reacquainted with the limits of his patience when the goat harrumphed under her breath and spoke. “You have high hopes for your son’s future.”

He blinked; what was he to say to that? Did not all fathers hold great dreams for the fates of their children?

She continued without him, “Then perhaps his behavior is nothing more than an attempt to fulfill those expectations, no? But,” and she turned away from him, “I may be wrong. Pray that I am wrong, my lord, for the most ambitious are the least likely to listen to reason.”

There was no chance to respond to such a dubious nugget of wisdom, for Liàng had returned with several white feathers in hand; simultaneously the door opened to admit the two servants Qiānbēi had sent out and the requested bowl held between them. The latter two paid their respects and departed as swiftly as possible.

“Place the feathers in here,” the soothsayer ordered, gesturing to the porcelain bowl.

Liàng immediately did so; Qiānbēi counted exactly four primaries that fluttered into the brazier. They were promptly set alight along with a strange object thrown in alongside the feathers. At first there was a small strip of smoke that rose up from the bowl, scented sour and unappealing. It swiftly grew in size and shape, morphing into an unmistakable circle at the goat’s urging hooves, completing itself in an uncanny mimic of the taijitu.

“Your son is travelling upon a dark path, I fear,” she said aloud, attention fixed on the cloud. “Should he continue down this way, then he shall be defeated by a warrior of black and white.”

Her hooves pushed at the smoke again and it dispersed, floating meaninglessly into the ceiling. Qiānbēi looked to his wife, seeking reassurance and offering what he could. When he saw that the soothsayer’s gaze was fixed elsewhere, he turned his head to look, Liàng’s questions ignored.

There were only empty pillars.

 

Shen did not have teeth, but if he had, he was certain they would be grit in frustration. As it was, he was certain he was wearing ruts into the floor with his pacing because something had gone wrong. Somewhere along the way he had gone wrong, had convinced his parents – however unintentionally, for this was _not_ his goal – that he required help. Not just help, but _help_. A soothsayer! A fortune-teller! A cud-chewing, short-sighted, _backwards_ old goat that put stock in her assuredly false puffed-up-beyond-belief abilities.

Seeing into the future? Bah! She was crazy and certainly his parents just as much so for seeking her out!

 _Well_ , he thought, eying the captain of the royal guard, _two can play at that game_.

“Zhōngchéng!” The wolf startled to attention. They were loyal, almost ridiculously so, what with their ‘pack-bonds’ or whatever they called them. He had only needed an outlet as a child; never had he foreseen the guards’ use for a matter such as this. But then he had never anticipated his parents’ sudden lack of faith in him, either. “Gather the royal guard, and quickly. Leave enough men that my parents will not notice their absence.”

“Yes Lord Shen.” The armored wolf turned to depart, paused, and asked with no small degree of curiosity, “May I ask the purpose of this discretion, my lord?”

“You may,” he murmured, distracted with thoughts of the future. With wide steps he crossed the hall and entered the armory, hefting several weapons and testing their weights. “We will be going hunting tonight, for a very special prey.”

“If I may make a suggestion,” the wolf continued, no longer on edge but anticipatory with the promise of bloodshed, “the yanyuedao is well-suited to your form, Lord Shen.”

The leucistic peacock lifted the named weapon and held it in a resting position. “I do believe you are correct,” Shen acknowledged. Realizing Zhōngchéng hadn’t yet left, he barked, “Why are you still here? We can’t leave until the guard has been assembled!”

The captain did not bother with pleasantries as he leapt into the hall, eager enough to be on his way. Shen took advantage of his privacy and slashed the blade through the air several times before spinning it up so he could take it by the guard and examine the end more closely. Yes, he did quite like it; what had that foolish creature called it? A yanyuedao? Well, he decided, he would have enough time in the future to become further acquainted with the weapon, once he had proven to his parents that he was sound of both mind and body.

 

It was not appropriate for someone of his stature to behave in such an uncivilized manner, but Shen believed he could be forgiven this once. He had not been so eager to greet his parents after being away from home since he had been but a hatchling; yet he could not deny his desire to see the pride on their faces as he told them of his victory.

Truly, it was so simple. His parents feared that he would travel a ‘dark path’, upon which he would be defeated by a warrior of black and white. That could refer to nothing but the pandas that lived in the neighboring village of Huībái, who, if legend were to be believed, were the descendants of a now-defunct religious order. A sect of warrior-monks, essentially; it made sense that a prophesized warrior would have the blood of the ancients, it truly did.

This warrior would only come to fight Shen if he had fallen. So, in order to prevent his fall, he had to eliminate the warrior the soothsayer had foretold. If there was no one who would fight him then there was no evidence, no proof that his parents should fear for him. And now they were all dead, he had seen to their deaths himself. The survivors – few as they were – would undoubtedly die in the western winter, driven into the mountains to starve. Even if should they survive that then collective memory would serve to keep them far, far away from Gongmen.

If not, well, he would always be happy to shed more panda blood to keep himself from a fatal descent. Need it be done, then it shall; he had to succeed his parents’ throne. It was expected of him. It was his _birthright_.

Leaping up the final flight of stairs Shen pushed the double-doors to the throne room open, prepared to announce his victory and reassure his parents that he was not in danger of anything, that he was prepared to take their place as overseer of the city.

Then he saw them.

His parents were recoiling from him. His mother had such terror in her posture, something more appropriate for suddenly coming upon an indecent scandal or a terrible accident. His father shielded her, an expression of disgust and disbelief written across his face, in his eyes; Shen almost couldn’t recognize either of the birds before him. Entering the room fully only made them retreat further. Why? Why were they moving away? Treating him like some kind of monster?

“Mother? Father?” A low keening sound emerged from one of the two; he wasn’t sure who had produced it. “I’ve succeeded; I’ve averted the prophecy! Without a warrior to fight against me I cannot fall!”

“Leave us,” his father whispered. Shen could not recall his father sounding so broken, not in any of his memories. “Please, leave us. Take the wolves with you and go, Shen.”

“Father?”

“Go.” Shen closed his eyes. This was surely a dream, it must be. “You have become a shell of the being you once were, Shen.” He would wake up soon, he was certain of it. “Now leave us. Leave Gongmen City and never return.” Soon, very soon. “Please, do not force us to make a spectacle of this.”

He released a breath. “I will be in my chambers should you need me,” Shen placidly intoned, turning away from his parents before the confusion and shock wore off. It would be inappropriate to lose his hold on his temper, now; they were only confused, surely. He only needed time to help them see the truth. “Good night.”

 

“What is this?”

A night’s rest had done them no good. The absurd behavior had persisted into the morning and now he stood before his ancestral home only to be told that—

“You will no longer be welcome in Gongmen City.” His father’s gaze was decidedly fixed upon some point above his son’s head, no longer bearing the will to look upon his progeny. “You, nor any member of the Royal Guard that stands beside you will be allowed within the city lines nor any of its protectorates. You have until noon to depart.”

Everything was clear to him now. Their minds were fogged by lies and deception, false beliefs that he was no longer fit to rule. He had stayed up all night thinking about it, but here and now everything fell into place. He was not wrong. _He_ was not wrong; it was his parents that had fallen ill, their minds weakened. But it was still they who were in power. To try and take over now would be treason and the people would not accept him as their true and rightful leader.

He raised his head, more than capable of taking their verbal abuse in stride. “Very well then, _Father_. Mark my words, I will return and have my place as the true ruler of Gongmen City.” His gaze flicked over to Zhōngchéng, who had stood a pace-and-a-half behind him, to his right, as a general would. The wolf’s ears were laid back in distress; Shen ignored it. “We will take our leave now, Zhōngchéng.”

He looked to his parents one last time, memorizing their faces. Impassionate and distant. “Far be it for me to dictate whom you allow to whisper in your ears, but one would assume greater ties lie between flesh and bone than that of a _soothsayer_.”

With that final parting shot Shen was gone.

 

“Liàng, what have we done?”

“We’ve thrown away our only son, Qiānbēi.”

“Where did we go wrong?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.”


End file.
